Damn, not sure how that happened, but I forgot to renew the registration for morehockeylesswar.org. It expired yesterday. My registrar was kind enough to let me renew anyway, so we’re back in business until 2012, when I’ll probably forget to renew again….
We have officially migrated to the new server with its new server software, and we are officially ironing out kinks. I expect there to be a few. By and large, it seems to have gone pretty smoothly though. I’m not especially pleased with my new look, so I’ll be tweaking that as we go.
I’ll be re-introducing the shop soon. I need to do some housekeeping on the merch (some of it has been less than satisfactory, so I may be discontinuing some designs and adding new). Please remember, if you’ve bought stuff, it comes with a 30 day money back guarantee. Don’t hesitate to use it if the stuff isn’t up to snuff!
More on the morrow.
Wacky Mommy reminded me that I forgot the best (non-hockey) part of the evening last night, the part in which the “Chevy Prize Blimp” got hijacked. They’ve got this radio controlled blimp that flies around the arena during intermissions, dropping coupons for free margarine (I’m not shitting you), free kids’ tickets, and free fast food hamburgers. The freakin’ crowd goes nuts, especially the kids, and I’m always expecting kids to go pitching over a railing as they chase the damn thing around the arena bowl. The announcer says “Make some noise, he’ll come your way; make a lot of noise, he’ll drop some prizes!” So children and adults alike are looking up at this thing, waving their arms and screaming wildly. I can understand the kids not understanding that the man who’s driving the thing is in plain sight behind them, up in the rafters, but I’ve never understood how the adults can be so daft. Do they really think he can discern their relative position to the blimp and pull the trigger so a piece of paper can flutter down from 100 feet above them, right into their greedy fingers? Do they really not understand that they’re making asses of themselves for a margarine coupon?
Anyway, the pilot’s lack of visibility was demonstrated last night, when the blimp got wedged at the top of the arena bowl and was mobbed by a crowd that included quite a few adults. I didn’t see how exactly it happened, but it looked like the pilot’s view was blocked by the center-hung scoreboard. There must have been 25 people in a tight clutch around the blimp, which strained futilely against their grasp. Finally, it broke free and bobbed away like a big puppy, but its payload had been completely stripped. The mob continued to fight over the booty for a few minutes. Holy blimp shit, Batman, what a freakin’ hillarious scene! And this was right at the beginning of its flight, so the buzz was pretty much killed for the blimp chasers in other parts of the arena. Which is not a bad thing for those of us who prefer to not have children climbing over us, chasing visions of free oleo. Actually, in the first intermission, a voucher for a free kid’s ticket landed in the empty seat next to me, and as I reached for it to hand it to the kids behind us, the little urchin almost tore it out of my hand. Neither he nor his parents said “thank you.” If you’re reading this, You’re welcome, ya little shit.
This, by the way, was the same kid who, with his sibling, was clacking little hand clappers in my ear throughout the first and second periods. And it was one of these kids who had an “accident”, causing the whole family to have to leave the game early. Some time in the third period, Wacky Mommy (who has a lousy sense of smell except when it comes to pee and shit) looked back at the soggy mess of half-eaten pretzels and paper waste they left and said “Phew, somebody had an accident!” The couple sitting beside me had had their own accident, having spilled a cocktail, so it was a pretty nasty soup around us in the old Coliseum. Some time during the third, an arena employee came with her haz mat kit and did a quick once over on the pee-pee puddle, and the lady next to me begged a couple super-absorbent rags to clean up her own mess. No wonder I was in a fightin’ mood by the time the fight cards finally came up. “Get out there and stick ’em! Fuck ’em! Christ! Pop ’em!” I shouted, now that the kids were gone.
God, I love hockey.
…she told me so. But when you decide at the last minute to skip trying to get rush tickets to see a play and instead go see your last-place Portland Winter Hawks take on the league leading Everett Silver Tips, there’s a good chance things are going to get out of hand. Especially when these teams see a lot of each other (Portland managed to beat Everett in Everett last night, 3-1).
Portland played with Everett for two periods, helped out by an extended 5 on 3 power play that yielded a tying goal. But then things started to fall apart in the third. When Everett scored their fifth and final goal at 11:30 of the third, making it 5 to 2, I started looking for Portland tough guy Frazer McLaren to pick a dance partner. But it was 16-year-old Tayler Jordan who got things started at 16:27 with Everett’s Brenan Sonne. This one looked like a draw to me. Then off the ice with them! As soon as the puck was dropped again, 5’11”, 185 lb. Matt Sokol squared off with Everett’s Kyle Beach. Beach is 6′ 3″ and pretty much had his way with Sokol, virtually undressing him in the process. To the showers, boys! Then we had to watch a whole minute and a half of hockey before we got a couple of big guys going at it with 6’6″, 216 lb. Max Gordichuk getting some good licks in on 6’4″, 224 lb. Moises Gutierrez.
With a minute 50 left to go, the crowd was yelling for big Frazer McLaren to get into it, but he spent the balance of the game on the bench.
And Wacky Mommy turns to me and says, “How can you like this sport, with all this fighting?” Somehow she forgot that we were going to go to a play, but she was the one who said, nah, let’s go see the Winter Hawks instead. Seriously, I’m not making this up. And you know, Wacky Mommy always says you can just screw so much and drink so much.
Anyway, it got me to thinking. John, AKA Peatycap, AKA Sig from hockey-fights.com and hockeyfansunite.com has a point about a lack of emotion in the NHL. I exchanged some e-mail with a friend in Minneapolis who recently caught a Wild game, and also commented on the lack of aggression. The hockey-fights.com guys blame the new rules enforcement, which we’re also getting in the WHL this year, but they seem to overlook several years of emotionless clutch-and-grab trap hockey that preceded the lockout. They (correctly) target Gary Bettmann as an incompetent assclown of a manager and marketer, and they also are correct that the rules enforcement has gone too far (though I think we disagree on the degree). But I don’t think that’s what’s killed the emotion in the NHL (especially with an eye on how boring the clutch-and-grab and trap game had become).
The real issue is far deeper than zero-tolerance. I saw more emotion on the ice tonight than I’ve seen in ten games in the NHL this season, and a couple of obstruction penalties going both ways didn’t do anything to quell it. These kids are playing their asses off, because they don’t know if they’re going to make it to the next level or not. Intense intra-division rivalries are the norm in Major Junior hockey, even when it’s a league leading Everett, with 69 points, taking it to Portland, with a lowly 30 points. Maybe the pros just make too damn much money to give a shit night after night, and maybe the fact that they’ve “arrived” makes them complacent. I guess that’s why I’m a junior hockey fan, and I’ve never been too excited about the idea of the NHL in Portland.
I understand why Peatycap’s bitter. He’s a Capitols fan, fer Christ’s sake. Shit, now that Jack Abramoff’s buddies can’t take Congress out to the sky box, the team’s probably going to have to pull up stakes and move to a real hockey town. Just don’t come to Portland, okay? (I hear Las Vegas is looking for a team….)
Wacky Mommy and I have a lot we agree on, but there are a few glaring discrepancies.
1. Religion. She’s a pantheist. I’m a born-again atheist with pantheist tendencies (after starting Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion, I’ve foresworn agnosticism). Right. We’re really not that far apart. (But isn’t a religious discussion a nice way to start things off?)
She joined the Unitarian church, which spurred my father to quip, “That’s not a church, that’s a social club!” My seven y.o. daughter calls herself an atheist (and asks, “what’s that mean again?”), but loves going to Sunday school. They eat snacks there.
A Christian friend asked my wife, “What’s your husband think about you joining the church?” and she responded with my joke about not needing to believe in God to be a Unitarian. You know, the Atheist club meets Tuesday nights in the fellowship hall. Coffee and donuts provided. Okay, it’s not really a joke.
Really, I’m fine with Unitarians. So far as I know, they’ve never started any wars or advocated communal violence against Quakers or anything. And they don’t go knocking on doors telling people it’s okay to believe whatever they want, because there are many paths to God.
2. Home decor. I shouldn’t get too far into this one at the risk of starting WWIII, but suffice it to say I deplore clutter and adore surfaces with nothing upon them. There are very few surfaces in our home without piles of papers upon them.
3. Dogs. Well, really, we pretty much agree now that dogs aren’t so great. But when she brought home the pooch in question, it nearly ended our engagement. Okay, all right, I love the stinky ol’ feller, but damn, a dog can really crimp your style.
4. TV. I don’t want to watch it, and I definitely don’t want to talk about it. Oh, okay, I like the Simpsons, Jeopardy, and hockey. And Frontline when I remember that it’s on. But trying to engage me in coversation about “My Name is Earl” is a sure way to bore me to tears.
5. Movies. I like art films, foreign films and documentaries. She likes romantic comedies.
6. Books. She likes chick lit; I like non-fiction.
7. Food. I’m an herbivore. She’s an omnivore.
8. Jewelry. I think it’s ostentatious; she loves sparkly, shiny things.
9. Education. She thinks Catholic school would be just peachy for our youngins (they don’t have nuns teaching any more! they don’t even pray so much!). I would just as soon drill holes in my head as trust my precious children to the Catholic church.
10. Portland. When we first got together, I was hell-bent on leaving Portland. She had a job she loved, and wanted to retire here. Now she is hell-bent on leaving Portland, and I’m comfortably employed and ambivalent about leaving. Go figure.
11. Loading the dishwasher. How can I convince her that my way is right and her way is wrong?
12. Yogurt containers. Me: they go in the recycling bin. Her: they go in the dishwasher, and then left to clutter the drying rack, and then get stuffed in a drawer with a bunch of other yogurt containers we don’t need.
13. Hockey. Now get this: last season, we had a 12-game package for the Winter Hawks. A couple games a month, mostly Saturday night dates. Well, you might guess this got a little old for Wacky Mommy by the end of the season, and you’d be right. So we decided not to buy another ticket package this season. Instead, we’d buy single game tickets, but also go to the theatre, symphony and opera, all of which I love. Now, get this: when it comes time for a date, I can’t get her to the theatre to save my life.
That’s right, folks, she’d rather go to a hockey game than a play.
I haven’t been to a play since last spring, and I’ve been really jonesin. “You can go by yourself,” is her typical response when I ask if she wants to see this play or that. The guys in the locker room at the rink don’t understand. They think I should be thrilled. But you heard me correctly: there is more to life than just hockey.
And with that, I bid you Good Day.
I’m going to skip the intro today and get right down to Thirteen Reasons I Get Fat Around the Holidays:
1. Halloween candy.
2. Stupid viruses that make me sick = no playing hockey.
3. Thanksgiving dinner.
4. Spending Thanksgiving week with the folks and eating ice cream.
5. It’s stinkin’ cold in Ory-gun. (Even while it was 65 and sunny in I-o-way!) Makes me want to pack on the pounds for hibernation. I want to eat even when I’m not hungry.
6. Travel time = no hockey.
7. Travel time = drinking time.
8. Hockey on TV = snacks.
9. Cookies, cake and candy. If they’re not at home, they’ll be at the office.
10. Short days, long nights, warm bed. Who wants to get up and exercise?
11. Rain. Nine months of it. Not a lot of walks or bike rides until July ’07.
12. Neighborhood progressive party.
13. Ah, to heck with it. I’m playing hockey today, and I’m bucking this trend!
Happy holidays all!
So yesterday I’m going for a cuppa joe with my cubie neighbor, and he mentions that he and the clan went to Disney on Ice the night before. I called the wife, and before I knew it we had tickets for last night’s show (half price thanks to the Entertainment book). The kids, they loved it. Well, “love” may not be the correct word. They were a bit overwhelmed, I think. Little guy, who was dumbfounded throughout the show, finally broke his silence on the way home. “I will always remember this day,” he said.
The show, Disneyland Adventure Featuring the Incredibles, was (predictably) long on tech and short on literary value. The whole “On Ice” genre is a little weird to me to begin with. There’s always this sense of forcing together elements that really don’t belong together. At a basic level, there’s some really good skating, but the kids don’t care about that. Nobody cheered for the double and triple jumps these guys and gals were landing in costume in the midst of props and lights and smoke. Then there’s the awkward attempt at retelling part of the movie. The outline of the script could be done in 25 words or less. Most dialog serves only to setup the next action sequence. There is no irony, no appeal to grown-up humor, and no subtlety whatsoever. Just a ton of flash and sizzle. But that’s all I expected, really, having once before experienced Toy Story 2 On Ice.
Anyway, here’s a late Thursday Thirteen, which I will call Thirteen Things About Disney on Ice:
1. Disney on Ice is produced under license by Feld Entertainment.
2. Feld Entertainment got their start in the circus, as owners of Ringling Bros.
3. In 1979, Feld bought the Ice Follies and Holiday on Ice.
4. In 1981, Feld produced the first Disney on Ice show, and has held the exclusive license for Disney on Ice shows ever since.
5. Feld Entertainment employs 450 professional skaters in 8 shows touring continuously world-wide.
6. Who are these skaters? Good question… In the early days, they employed well-known Olympic skaters, but today you won’t find the names of the skaters anywhere. Not on programs and not on Web sites. I did find this one interview with a member of the chorus ensemble of Toy Story 2 On Ice. She’s been doing the same show for four years. Sheesh. What a grind that must be.
7. After all these years, and with all that crazy, overwhelming tech (lights! sound! pyrotechnics!), it still comes down to the pinwheel. In this show, it was performed by “robot copy” Syndrome’s army. During this, I leaned over to Wacky Mommy and whispered “Oglethorpe fucked her, you know.” She said “Huh?” “It’s true,” I said, “I heard it from a couple of guys. Ogilthorpe fucked the last girl on the pinwheel of the lce Stravaganza. That’s her, right there.” Then I yelled towards the ice, “Get yer butt in gear, for the love of Mike!” (I recorded the whole thing on my cell phone! No, seriously, if you don’t get the Slap Shot reference, you probably think I’m a real a-hole.)
8. If you want to skate with the anonymous hordes of Disney on Ice performers, you need to be 17 and have a high school diploma.
9. If you can’t skate, Feld may have an opportunity for you in Animal Care. You don’t need a diploma for this one. One area of responsibility is “manure pickup”.
10. If animal poop is a turn off, you may prefer the Circus Nursery Attendant position. One of the duties of this job is “Directs children in resting and toileting.” But you get to run away with the circus.
11. Disney on Ice has been performed in 45 countries on six continents.
12. Feld Entertainment is the single largest employer of figure skaters in the world.
13. “Well after that, we don’t have to go to Disneyland,” said Wacky Mommy on the train ride home. “Yes we do!” cried little miss missy. Damn it! Stupid sexy advertising!
Hey, you’re a human, right? And chances are, you live in a neighborhood. So here are Thirteen Ways to be a Good Human in Your Neighborhood.
1. Send your kids to the neighborhood pulic schools. Get involved with the parent/teacher organization. Start one if there isn’t one already. Give money to the school if you can afford to. If you would consider prvate school, instead consider donating a fraction of what you would pay for tuition directly to your children’s classrooms. Encourage your neighbors to join you in sendng their children there, too. You’ll be amazed how much a school can improve with parental involvement. Find out where your children’s classmates live. Organize a “walking schoolbus”.
2. Grow a garden. Share the bounty with your neighbors.
3. Get to know any old folks in the neighborhood. Check in on them once in a while, or at least say hi when you see them on the street. When the zucchinis start going wild, make them some zucchini bread and take it to them. Ask them about neigborhood history.
4. Learn all the kids’ names. Find out how old they are and where they go to school.
5. Use organic practices in your yard. Think of yourself as a steward of the land, not an owner. Care for it with the next residents in mind, be they human, animal or plant.
6. Compost. Make dirt. Recycle grass clippings and food scraps into rich, luscious soil to grow nutritious, environmentally beneficial food.
7. Have a block party. Or a progressive party. We keep talking about doing a progressive party on our block, but it we haven’t pulled it off yet.
8. Mend fences. Literally. We love our neighbors and the privacy fence between us.
9. Well, we don’t love all our neighbors. Like the ones on the other side. We wish they’d let their dog piss and poop in the yard instead of on the patio. Even if they can’t be persuaded to let the dog off the patio to do his business, maybe they could hose down the patio once in a while? So anyway, if you have pets, treat them well, and don’t let them be a nuisance to others.
10. If you have a conflict with a neighbor, try to be the bigger person about it. Don’t call the city on their ass, except as a last measure, and only if you’re sure the city will cite them. Call the city. A friendly public employee will tell you something like, “If there’s more than six piles of dog shit, we can write them up. Anything less, there’s nothing we can do.”
11. Don’t hold a grudge. Hose the damn patio down when they’re away. Use their hose and water. When the octegenarian granny who lives there asks what you’re doing, explain it to her. Take her some of that zucchini bread later.
12. Take walks around the block after dinner when the weather’s nice.
13. On May Day, make May Day baskets. Leave them on people’s porches, ring their bells, and run away. (I like May Day. It’s International Workers’ Day.)
Happy Thursday, one and all!
Some of you, like Jenn, may have been put off by my seemingly anti-NASCAR comments a while back. So here I am trying to make it up to you. I took Himself Jr. to the local dirt track Saturday night for an evening of stock car racing excitement. I must say, it was everything I remember, with the addition of Budweiser (I was too young to drink last time I went to the races).
We got there early, and so did these guys.
Here’s something you don’t see at a hockey game: Old Glory proudly flying off the back of a Trans Am. And unlike at hockey games, the crowd did not go wild at the line “o’er the land of the free….” I’m not sure if it is out of respect for the song, or just a lack of enthusiasm. Could it be that hockey fans have a more libertarian bent than race fans?
After time trials for the late models, the racing got under way with the “pure stocks”, cars with virtually unmodified engines and chasis. Predominant stock models are Camaros, Trans Ams, Novas and Monte Carlos. (Sunset Speedway also runs street stocks, with souped up engines, modifieds, which are Frankenstein’s monsters built on passenger car frames and with open wheels on the front end, and late models, purpose-built dirt track racers.)
Race fans pretty much fit into the same demographic as hockey fans, i.e. working class. Fun for all ages. If you think NASCAR Democrats are rare, try being the only socialist in the crowd. But no problem. The fans were all really nice. We talked to a couple young boys whose Dad drives a modified. I asked how he was doing in points, and they said, well, not so good. His car keeps losing parts and he keeps crashing, they said. Sure enough, in the first heat race in the modified class, their dad slammed into the wall on the first corner of the first lap.
Some people say race fans only go to see the wrecks (kind of like hockey fans who go to see fights). Stock car racing is a full contact affair (except in the pure stock division), with lots of bumping and occasional wrecks. This car was involved in a smash up coming out of the 3 turn and nearly rolled.
Small boy enjoyed the show for a while. During warm up laps, when all four classes of racers were out on the track, he started naming them as they went by. “Late model. Late model. Modified. Late Model.” Unfortunately, we got there way too early, and by the time the heat racing started, he had seen enough cars and found a bug in the gravel under the stands. He played with that for the rest of the evening. We stayed for one late model heat, and then headed home.
This one’s for all the mommy bloggers. Especially this one, who makes me feel like uber-dad. She’s used to tell me I should do a daddy blog, but somehow I got side-tracked into this wacky anti-war, pro-hockey etc. blog. Anyway here ya go, Wacky Mommy: Thirteen Ways to be a Better Dad (from the perspective of a working Dad of a 4 y.o. and a 7 y.o.).
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